the house lay in it's frame. TV crusted in mighty slabs of chipped ice. We tried to watch something about animals, but the misty sheets and crystals made it hard to see what was going on. Cigarettes and cans lay congealed in themselves. Once dropped, they would slide across into the corner, the heavier side of the room, and construct themselves in a fabricated hunk of frost. This was also where group of people stood near, and hysterically tried conversation with us. No use, we were fixated on other things. Curtains of the Artics favorite son hung from shelves. Crackle crackle clock hand churning through the next number in a rough diamond coat. Comfortable aesthetics that took us away from the world. We will stay here, just for a while.
And they were cold.
They were always cold.
Naturally.
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